To visit the alehouse on Sabbath Day
and be among wenches who swirl and play;
but on the road home, have a care
somebody follows, something is there.
Look to the left, an apparition appears
most foul and dreadful to molest thy fears;
at first a man with a sickly smile
who turns into mastiff for half a mile.
Onward go with the dog beside,
a diabolic companion from sulphuric tides.
Then just as quick it does retire
the hound transforms into a raging fire.
Homeward path now edged with flame
know the devil, know his game;
strike your key into a shivering lock,
beware the saints which outside knock...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Slip the noose of dying and madness for a time and share some observations with Welsh poet Steven Francis in this, his 5th collection of poetry.
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